


The Thrill of the Chase

by Viridian5



Category: due South
Genre: Buddies, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-12
Updated: 2000-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray tries to cheer Fraser up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thrill of the Chase

**Author's Note:**

> It's not really a spoiler, but I wanted to say that Murray the Homicidal Janitor was inspired by the janitor whose mop Ray had to keep jumping over in "Odds."

Run, run, run / Fast as you can / You can't catch me / I'm the gingerbread man... Actually, I'm one stringy detective clutching a stolen Stetson fleeing from one big, red, pissed off Mountie, but the idea's the same. At least he wasn't brooding anymore.

"Ray!"

"I can't let ya profane the sacred Stetson with your depressing broodiness!" I yell back as I slowed a little to turn a corner. No sense in falling on my ass now. "I'm temporarily confiscating it due to behavior unbecoming to a Mountie!"

"I will reclaim that hat if I have to wrest it from your cooling corpse to do so!"

Real bad mood. "And _that_ was Mountie-like?"

Precinct's just about empty. Not a creature really stirring but us two. Some weird moon shift or something had ended all criminal activity tonight, leaving me bored off my rocker. Not like I want anyone to go out killing and stealing just to keep me occupied, but I am so bored...

20 minutes left on my shift. I could catch up on my paperwork.

Nah.

Fraser was being a real gloomy Gus, so I saw a "two bird" situation. Thus, the great chase.

I leapt over a moving mop handle and glared at Murray the Homicidal Janitor. Guy's always trying to trip me up, and I never did nothing to him. He just keeps mopping all blank-faced like nothing's nothing. Dief's playing both sides by racing along with me, barking happily, then sometimes trying to trip me up.

"Pick a side and stay on it, Dief!" I said, and he responds with a canine smirk.

I turn another corner, and Fraser is _there_ with his arms outstretched to get me, a Mountie smirk on _his_ face. It takes me precious time to register the impossibility of it before I try to back-pedal. Bad move. The floor's too slick, and my hip hits it hard, but I'm still moving forward. I slide right through Fraser's parted legs like something out of a cartoon and whoop in victory. Wish I could see the look on his face.

Except. Except I'm not stopping, and here comes the--

Aw, shit.

I blank out during my impact and come to lying on my back, my ass flush with the wall and legs twisted above me. Damned good thing nobody's here to see this but Fraser, who's crouched down next to me and looking concerned. And Dief, who's licking my face. And Murray, damn it, who wanders away, expressionless as always, his evil floor waxing work a triumph. And... aw geez.

Welsh walks by at just that moment, looks down at me totally deadpan, and says, "You're _not_ getting workman's comp for this," before leaving.

Fraser briefly cracks a little smile, so I raise my fist heavenward and say, "Damn you, Murray! Damn you to hell!" to let him know I'm okay. Kind of. Okay, I hurt, but no need to let Fraser know that. And he grins. I hand him his hat, which I kept safe through my whole wild ride, only denting the brim a little from my fingers' deathgrip on it. I love that hat. It's his. "You found your smile, so you can have it back."

"Ray, I doubt that the janitor is engaged in some kind of duel to the death with you."

"That's what he wants ya to think. I know him better. He's out to get me."

Fraser carefully helps me up without asking first, figuring I'd turn him down, and I accept as gracefully as I can considering the way my legs are twisted above me. Once up, I shrug my shoulders to try to get my gun harness straps back in place, but I think I'll have to dig them out of the trenches they cut into my back.

I try not to limp, but he notices and sits me down on a step. "How much candy did you put in your coffee today?" he asks as he sits next to me.

"Dunno. Frannie bumped me this afternoon while I was putting 'em in."

"Oh dear."

"But I'm good wired." I smirk. "High-wired." He puts the Stetson on my head. It smells like pine, like his hair. "What's that for?"

"It looks good on you."

Significant or just him? Hard to say, so I change the subject by rubbing my hip and saying, "Damn, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Who is? And are you expecting me to believe that you could easily polish the floor with your spine when you were younger?"

I did cheer him up; all I had to do was make a damned fool of myself. I tip his hat on my head. "Nah, but I used to recover faster."

After adjusting the fit of my harness for me, Fraser puts a gentle arm around my shoulders. Shameless as ever, I move in closer, which he always seems to like. He doesn't touch everybody as much as he does me. Just me, just me.

Stel, at her most withering, used to snap that women were the ones that were supposed to want to be "just held." I'd loved her more than life itself, but that didn't make it easy to be someone who had to touch everything matched with someone who didn't want to be touched unless there was a damned good reason, like dancing or sex. "Just because" never cut it with Stel, and I respected that. Didn't make me happy, but I wanted her to be happy. I tried so hard to make her happy...

...and I'm supposed to be cheering Fraser up, not bringing myself down.

But why can't I have it all ways? There's way too much distance and coldness in the world not to take advantage of having friendly people around.

Yeah, taking advantage is right, because I get this sudden urge, like I often do when we're close like this, to rub his neck with my hair. Which I don't do usually and won't do now since I'm wearing the hat and anyway my hair is currently the scrub brush of doom. I hit the bleach a little too hard last time. I don't like doing it, but there's a reason why my real color's called _dirty_ blond. Looks scuzzy. I don't know if nobody noticed that my hair's been, like, ten different shades since I started here or if they did notice but were too polite to say anything.

_He_ probably notices. One flare of those mighty nostrils, and the game's up. Wonder what he thinks about it. Maybe he even knows it's part of my style.

Plus, it spikes on its own and only needs to be washed maybe once or twice a week.

I say, "Ya know you can talk to me if anything's bothering you, right?"

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't realize I was being such poor company."

What a thick skull. You'd almost think _he_ was Polish. "Nah, not like that. I'm not one of those fair weather buddies. If talking helps or ya need someone to cheer you up, I'm here for ya, guy."

"Oh. I was just thinking of home."

I am one selfish bastard that it bothers me when he misses home. Yeah, it bothers me to see him upset and that's natural, but it also bothers me that one day he's going to get homesick and actually go home. I'm not going to let on, though. "Yeah, not much here like home."

Fraser looks almost impish. "No one tries to steal my hat there."

"Sounds like a negative, not a positive, to me, buddy. You could... you could go on vacation there." His last vacation was two months there. I couldn't imagine being without him that long. Pathetic much, Ray? Geez, be an adult.

"It's not that bad."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Lieutenant Welsh walks by again, gives us that long-suffering look he does so well, and says, "Ray, will you get out of here? Go home. Constable, can you make sure he gets home without being a hazard to himself or others?"

"Yes, sir."

Finally! As I get my coat, Fraser says, "Thank you, Ray."

"Fer what?"

"For being there to talk to. For nearly breaking your neck to try to cheer me up."

I take off his hat and hand it to him. "Fer stealing yer hat?"

"_That_ is unforgivable." Then the sneak grabs my coat from my hands and dodges my every attempt to get it back. "Oh, do you want this?"

"Hey! _That's_ not Mountie-like either!"

He smiles at me, all sugar and cream, and continues his game of keep-away. "How would you know?"

It is buddies, though.

 

### End


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